


Soul-Keeper, Keep Mine Instead.

by musicalgirl4474



Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst, But like . . . ritual suicide, Character Death, Death is a character, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, So much angst, Suicide, Whumptober 2020, Witch-craft, Witches, and also, so . .., which is meant to lead to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalgirl4474/pseuds/musicalgirl4474
Summary: When Washington is mortally wounded, Alexander goes back to the witch-craft his mother had taught him to keep the General from dying. Whatever it takes.Whumptober #9For the Greater Good"Take me instead"/"Run!"/Ritual SacrificeIt's mostly the last one, with a bit of the first one thrown in for spice.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette
Series: Whumptober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956718
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	Soul-Keeper, Keep Mine Instead.

The assassins do not make it out of headquarters alive, they are slaughtered by John Laurens and Tench Tilghman before they even make it to the bottom of the stairs. This is little comfort to Alexander where he kneels next to the General, shaking hands trying to staunch the blood flowing from the wound in his gut. A fatal wound, and a painful one. The General will die from this, even if it takes a few days to kill him. Alexander cannot let this happen. Cannot let the cause fall apart in the way he knows it will if Washington died. Cannot let Washington die regardless, because despite what he had promised himself, he has grown to care for the General, to crave the General’s care in return.

He moves aside when the doctor arrives, mind already whirring with the materials he will need to gather, finding the dark place inside himself where his own life means less than nothing. It will be hard to gather the materials, this far from his Island home, there will have to be substitutions. Still, he would not be much of a witch’s son if he could not find the right ingredients by aura.

The doctor is solemn, the other aides are solemn. Hamilton is manic. He knows John is worried about him, but he’s easily able to direct the other man’s attention to the distraught Lafayette. Alexander sets Tilghman to pen a letter to Lady Washington, and encourages the aide to ride with all haste to bring the General’s wife to camp if she wishes to see him before he passes.

Then, Alexander takes off into the darkness. The silver knife he will need is already among his belongings, as are most of the herbs. But he shall need to find berries suitably poisonous, and hopefully some fresh mint, if he can find it. He can burn the dried mint he has gathered earlier if it comes to it, but chewing fresh mint would make it easier. His hands are shaking and he is not sure that he will not collapse into shocked tears at any moment, but for now, alone in the light of a full moon (and thank Providence for that, the ritual will be much easier to perform with the light of a full moon; not because the full moon itself is important, but because any tallow candles burning could counteract the spells needed, and he prefers a little light by which to work.)

The poisonous berries are easy enough to find. Shiny and red and bitter; their auras scream danger. Alexander fills a pouch with the firm fruits and moves towards the sound of the river which runs past camp. He trapses at the side of the river for a distance before coming across a small tributary. The smaller, muddy creek is more likely to hold the plant he was searching for. And indeed, it is only a moment before he finds the short green plants in the mud right at the edge of the water. Dark purple veins and slightly spiky leaves cause a small smile to grace Alexander’s face, past the apathy he had forcibly sent his mind into the moment he had decided what he was going to do.

He packs some of the mint away in another pouch and makes his way back to camp, nodding wearily at the sentries, who themselves look lost at the news that must have made its quick way through camp. Alexander makes his quick way back to headquarters and into his own room, the nearest to the General’s. He takes the silver knife -the witch’s knife that his cousins made sure he retained when his mother’s husband had sold all of their belongings- and secrets it away up his sleeve. The various lotions and poultices he may need he puts into a leather pouch that he fascens to his belt. Then he makes his way to the General’s quarters.

Lafayette is sitting in a chair at the General’s bedside, elbows against his own knees as he presses his hands into his eyes.

“Laf,” Alexander says quietly, “mon ami, you should be asleep.”

Lafayette looks up, eyes red from crying, and fixes his gaze on Alexander. “The doctor said someone ought to stay with ‘im, in case ‘e worsens in the night,” the Frenchman says, voice thick with fear and sadness and other emotions that Alexander, in his state of detachment, cannot parse.

“I can take the rest of the night then, you will need to get some sleep. I will call for you if anything changes,” he adds, fixing his friend with a firm gaze. “You will need all of your energy tomorrow to keep the camp together. The war will not end, even if the General’s life does.” It won’t, but Lafayette doesn’t know that. “The men will need you in top form tomorrow. I will stay by his side.”

“I . . .” Lafayette hesitates, looking at where the General lays so still. “Yes, you are right. You will call for me if his condition changes?”

“Right after I send for Doctor Mann,” Alexander encourages. Lafayette stands to leave, but lays a hand on Alexander’s shoulder as he passes him in the doorway.

“Make sure you get rest yourself, my friend.”

Alexander nods, though he knows he will not find rest ever again in the way that his friend means. And maybe it is cruel of him, to do this. But it would doom their cause not to, and he always knew that this war would be the end of him.

Working quickly once the door closes behind him, Alexander leaves the silver knife on the bedside table, careful not to make too much noise. There is much work to be done before the actual summoning can happen. The first item Alexander sees to is the dowsing of the tallow candles around the room. He opens the curtains that shrouded the windows, letting bright moonlight to throw the room into stark relief. The silver blade catches the light, sending reflections around the room.

Carefully, Alexander takes the berries and mint from their pouches and leaves them next to the knife. First, he takes out a poultice of soul-catching healing plants, waters, and charcoal. He covers the General’s bandage over the wound with it, doing his best to cover the entirety of the cloth, so that no white peeks through the dark of the poultice.

Then he takes out a small vial filled with red liquid; his own blood. He draws a trefoil knot on his General’s forehead with it, doing his best to smooth the fever-creased brow. Carefully, he scatters crushed wild banyan seeds around the bed with a wide enough space at the foot for him to tuck himself inside.

The silver knife gleams dangerously as he takes it and the mint-and-berries are tucked in hands that are trembling slightly. Odd. He shouldn’t be able to feel fear in this mind-space. He chews the mint first, letting the sharp taste and scent overwhelm him slightly. He wonders if his irises have begun to show the violet color that shows one to be a witch. Then he puts the handful of berries in his mouth, but does not bite down. No, first he has to break his connection to life.

He drags the silver blade across his arm, digging deep. It is imperative that the blood-loss be enough to kill him. Then he bites into the berries and lets the bitter juice slide down his throat, which begins to close up almost immediately.

“Child of Rachel Faucett.” The voice is hollow, somehow both male and female and neither at once. Cotton Mather. Death. Reaper. Soul-carer. Soul-Keeper. And many other names.

“Eminence,” he rasps past his closing throat, “I offer a trade.”

“You request a trade,” the dark being says, amusement evident in their voice.

“My life for his.”

“I assumed,” and now the voice sounded more feminine. More . . .

“Mother,” he ventures, voice deferential. Death was all who were gone, Death was all who lived. The soul-keeper bestowed life, and was there when it was taken away. “This country is a chance for newness. For innovation rather than stagnation.”

“I did not come for your country,” she dismissed. “I came because it is you, whom I value and put above others. My little survivor, whose life-mother gave her life for you. And you want to give that away for this man.”

Alexander stands, and suddenly his throat is no longer closing and his wrist no longer throbs with blood and his empty stomach no longer pains him. His physical body stayed sat on the floor at the foot of the bed.

“Yes.”

“Then I accept, though you know not the lives that will not exist because of this choice. That man had no more life to bring into this world than his own.”

“He is father to this new country which, I think, will please you more than anything I could ever do.”

Death nods gently and takes Alexander’s face between dark hands. “Child, I own you for this.”

“Do what you will with me,” he agrees. “But he lives.”

“He lives,” the soul-keeper agrees, and she smiles. “And since I have much love for you, your country will win this war.”

When Washington wakes as the sun enters through the windows, Alexander’s body is already cold at the foot of his bed; but he will not see it until he rises from the bed, which will not happen for a few moments yet. For now, to him whose fever has broken and whose wound no longer pains him, it seems that all is right in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> .......sorryyyyyy
> 
> (Also yes, I am a good 40 minutes into the 10th, but I'm still counting myself as on-schedule.)


End file.
